Monthly Archives: March 2007

Ann Coulter Has No Colon!

Posted on by
Reply

So aside from being a Cunty McCunt, (something she is so familiar with, she celebrated it in Vanity Fair a few months ago), I think it’s pretty popular knowledge that Ann Coulter has no excretory system. Or at least not traditionally. I’m sure by now, everyone’s heard of her exquisite comment on John Edwards, and I’m now quite sure that her excretions come out of the mouth. Years and years of constipation have resulted rapid single-organism evolution, until her body had adapted itself to become like one of those single-entrance/exit organisms talked about in Freshman Biology; food and fecal matter share the same channel. She certainly looks like she hasn’t taken a shit in about 26 years. Maybe that’s why she’s also so ageless, her body has pickled itself with poop?

When You Forget How to Be Gay

Posted on by
1

So I’ve forgotten how to be gay.

I’m newly single, and after four years of not dating, I’m thrust back into the world of needing to get laid on a regular basis. So my friend Jon drags me out to a couple of gay bars last week, (very famous gay bars, apparently, although I’d never even heard of either of them), and we proceed to have a good time.

All of a sudden, I realize that there are guys in there staring at me. Not staring as in they wanna become my BabyDaddy staring, or even creepy Rice-Queen-wanna-take-you-to-Astoria-and-dress-you-up-in-a-cheongsam staring, but more like – ‘What the fuck are you doing here, breeder?’

It really started to unnerve me when a guy accidentally touched my butt and then looked at me with fear in his eyes, like I was about to beat him up.

I’ve never thought of myself as typically butch. (As many would attest, they’ve never ever even thought of me having genitals.) But this was just out of the ordinary. I didn’t know what to do. Over my years of comfort and security, I had let myself stop being gay, and those other fledglings could sense that I didn’t know how to fly. As I contemplated maybe calling the go-go boy over to shove a fiver in his ass crack, it struck me; what if he doesn’t want to? What if he, (probably straight), thinks that I’m just fucking with him? I was mortified and terrified without having even acted. I was going to have my membership card cut up.

Later that night, I ended up home, not having brought anyone with me.

The next day, I overcame my fear of showering at the gym.

I’m not sure the two are related, but I’m sure that my therapist will have something to say about that. That stupid fruit.